


Date a Mad Scientist and Other Ways to Disappoint Your Children

by AWildJaxWrites



Category: Invader Zim, Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Dates, Crossover, Dib has Concerns, M/M, Planebrane, Post-Enter the Florpus, Professor Membrane is still oblivious, Science Boyfriends, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2020-09-05 20:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWildJaxWrites/pseuds/AWildJaxWrites
Summary: Professor Membrane cares about three things: 1. Science, 2. His glory, 3. His children (because it involves the first two let's be honest.) But after attending a conference where all three of those things are metaphorically attacked, it puts him in a bit of a mid-life crisis.When he returns home, Membrane attempts to prioritize his kids over his own ambition but struggles to connect with Dib. Desperate to find any sort of bridge, Membrane remembers the man he met at the conference. The one who almost made cryptids and aliens seem scientifically possible, and certainly made up for any lapse in judgment by being so dedicated to the principles of the field.But every phonecall becomes less about paranormal suggestions and more about each other.





	1. The Unknown Guest

Professor Membrane was, to put it mildly, frustrated. Had it not been for the social trip he had taken a few years ago to Night Vale, he would probably have been extremely put off by what was happening.

As the most famous scientist on earth, it was absolutely ridiculous that he was being treated like a first-year grad student. The same thing had happened in Night Vale, when Membrane traveled to see his colleague Carlos get married. Carlos had warned him that while the town was the most scientifically interesting place in the world - and Membrane would ultimately agree - he also related how everything was out of sync.

No one knew who Professor Membrane was, had never even heard of the places he had been, and kept yelling “INTERLOPER!” at him till Carlos’s husband told them to stop.

The conference wasn’t nearly as threatening but was just as out of sync. Membrane had long ago decided he would never turn down a speaking engagement, but this event was making him rethink that idea.

And, as he checked his holo-screen for the sixth time in ten minutes, the traveling was also starting to make him feel, poorly.

Sighing, Membrane turned off the screen and the blue light shimmered as it dissipated. The children were asleep, his absence was meaningless for the moment.

The hotel bed sighed as he stood up, and the action seemed so pointless that Membrane had difficulty deciding what to do next. His point of contact for the conference had met him at the hotel, given him his materials, and suggested a few restaurants. Turning, Membrane saw the small black box on the nightstand, with the bright red lines building numbers. Almost ten-thirty. It was too late to eat dinner.

Membrane went to the large bag he had kept zipped up. His habit, even on short trips, was to completely unpack and put his clothes in drawers, his shaving bag in the bathroom, and his leisure lab coat hung in the closet. This bag was his portable lab.

As he unzipped it, various metal frames and legs snapped out and locked into place. A table built itself, coughing out vials and tubing from slots and shelves. Membrane passed a gloved hand over a panel and it flipped over, revealing a sizeable syringe. Taking it up with one hand, he flipped back part of his coat and lifted up his shirt.

He didn’t flinch.

The synthesized nutrition injection took care of his missed meal, but he still had time to kill. Going out, ordering, eating, all of the steps of obtaining a meal took up time. Most of his days were about spending as much time as he could in his lab. But Membrane still understood the social importance of sitting down to dinner. Specifically dinner.

He tossed the syringe back with more force than he had expected, and the clatter made him jump.

Being frustrated always made him think about Amane. Thinking about Amane always made him frustrated.

He decided to get a drink.

  
Back down in the lobby, Membrane was immediately greeted by the posterboard specifically put there to greet attendants of the conference. His face was nowhere to be seen on the poster, and his name wasn’t anywhere near the top.

The “Vocational Inventors Lecture and Exhibition Annual Conference,” was apparently in its seventh year and advertised a theme of “Bring your creations to life” in partnership with the M. Shelley Science Foundation. It did list Membrane as both the main speaker and a panelist but made no mention of his accomplishments.

What was the point of being called the most famous scientist if it wasn’t true?

Membrane walked around the posterboard and into the quiet lobby. The lights had been dimmed, and everything had begun to wilt. Even the person behind the counter, with their crisp gray uniform, started to sag.

For a moment, Membrane wanted to continue forward. To have the automatic doors part and the air curtain blow stale, tepid air over him. A sort of decontamination shower to break him free of this place and allow him to move back into the real world. Where people knew his name and listened to his every word.

He wanted to go home.

The pain of that thought made him flinch and he turned sharply away from the door. He had heard the bursts of laughter when he had stepped out of the elevator. The noise originated around the corner, where the bar and restaurant were located. Membrane walked toward it and felt more confident as he saw the pops of light illuminate a circular window in the doors before him. He hesitated when one door opened and a woman stepped out. She smiled as she saw him, but it was a polite smile. She did not recognize him.

“Hola, buenas noches.” She said and paused, waiting for him to greet her.

“Buenas noches.” Membrane replied, but with far less of his normal gusto. Still, the woman brightened.

“You speak English, natively, yes?” She asked. Her “y” hit like a “j” and Membrane tried not to think of Amane forgetting how y’s worked.

“Natively.” He agreed and they stood awkwardly for a moment. He felt compelled to continue a conversation, but for some reason, his mind only wanted to make a comment about the floating, transparent nature of her hair.

She was clearly a scientist, wearing a similar sort of white lab coat as a dress, and besides was very pale. Most scientists were pale. There was also the presence of a large scar on her skull.

Typical markings of a scientist.

“My name is Penumbra.” The woman finally said and stepped forward, putting out her hand.

“Professor Membrane.” He replied, shaking her hand.

Penumbra blinked in surprise and for a moment Membrane thought he had finally been recognized. But instead, she only held onto his hand and turned it over.

“Is your hand metal?” She asked, looking down at his black glove. Before he could answer, she lifted her face up to look at him. “May I see?”

Again, before he could say anything, Penumbra held up her hands and shook her head.

“No, wait. I came out here for something. You go ahead in and I will find you later.” She said and started to walk away. From the slight angle of her steps, Membrane guessed she was slightly inebriated.

Trying to relax, Membrane sighed and looked back at the door. He was a scientist, he had to approach this methodically.

Not even methodically but elementary.

His hypothesis was simple: if he went through the door, he would be able to get a drink and socialize, then he would start to feel better because he was clearly in need of human interaction.

Membrane shook his head and opened one of the doors.

The light was even darker in the bar, and Membrane’s goggles whirred as they adjusted. He would have to remember to recalibrate them, however, as some of the figures were coming in with odd colors.

People sat in groups at the tables or else bunched up at the bar. Membrane realized how lost he was without his reputation preceding him. He was not used to approaching people.

Heading toward a gap at the bar, Membrane did a quick scan of the occupants. Mostly men, which didn’t necessarily mean anything for the makeup of the total attendants but was boring in its reality. At least there was still a lot of diversity. It was also the fewest number of abled people Membrane had ever seen gathered in one place.

He flexed his metal hands as he stepped up to the bar counter.

“Excuse me, sir.” Membrane said, his normal booming tone returning. “I’d like to order a drink.”

The people around him paused and turned, staring at him with looks that ranged from surprise to pure hatred.

“I think you might be in the wrong room.” One particularly large and foul looking fellow said.

“I was looking for the bar, and this seems to fit all the necessary requirements of one.” Membrane said.

“He doesn’t talk like a hero.” A smaller, but equally fierce-looking woman interjected.

“He sounds like one.” The first man retorted.

“I am a scientist.” Membrane said, affronted. “I have always been a scientist.”

“He invented Super Toast.” A third voice said, causing the first two to turn. The man behind them seemed innocuous, but the pair seemed uneasy. After a moment’s hesitation, the woman spoke up.

“I like Super Toast.” She said and glanced back at Membrane.

“Delightful!” He replied. “I’m also the main stage speaker at the conference this weekend.”

“You’re the VILE speaker?” The large man asked, sounding offensively incredulous.

“Professor! I am so glad you waited for me.” Penumbra returned with her arms raised; as if they had been old friends reuniting after a long time apart.

“Now, get your drink and come here. I would like to see what kind of tensile strength you get from whatever is in your hands.” She continued and glanced at the others next to him.

“Flug, you must come as well. This man has metal hands!” She exclaimed.

“You grab a table while we wait for our drinks.” The other man, Flug, said. Penumbra nodded and turned quickly on her heel, walking into the center of the room.

“You know who I am?” Membrane asked Flug as he stopped next to him.

“Sure. But I am one of the very few people who can leave these types of bubbles.” Flug answered. “I’m Dr. Flug Slys.”

“Professor Membrane.” Membrane replied then blustered. “But you did know that already.”

“I take it you’re not used to introducing yourself,” Flug said.

“Not in the slightest!” Membrane admitted with a laugh. “I hate these dead zones.”

“You’ve been to others?”

“Night Vale, for a wedding.”

“That’s a weird one. Ever been to Kirlian?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Lucky you.”

The bartender finally approached and the two men ordered their drinks. Drinks in hand, Membrane followed Flug through the crowd till they found Penumbra’s table. There were three other people with her and they all stared at Membrane went he approached. Penumbra jumped up from her seat and went to him, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him to her seat.

“Please let us see. Getting hands right is so difficult and you absolutely must show us how you did it.” Penumbra gushed and sat back down. Membrane felt oddly exposed at that moment and it unnerved him further.

His bravado and confidence had fled. Somehow, the fact that he was unknown had allowed a sense of inadequacy to inflate inside of him.

Slowly, Membrane took off one glove. The metal glimmered in the odd overhead light. The sparks of smoky light shattered more as Penumbra grabbed the hand and begun pulling on his fingers.

“The articulation is unbelievable.” “Look here how the finger pads are integrated into a simulated nervous system.” “This muscle system is incredibly intricate.” “Oh! There’s the claw feature!” The initial observations came in rapid-fire succession from Penumbra and her group.

Then the questions came.

“What is this aperture for?” “How do you power the ion cannon?” “Why did you use cellulose fibers? “How much weight can you lift?” “Where does the artificial system connect to your natural nerves?”

Membrane stood of a good fifteen minutes till Flug pointed it out and Penumbra fell over herself apologizing. He then sat down and they all started talking.

A lot of it Membrane didn’t understand and seemed to have to do with whatever lab Flug worked in. It was still nice to sit with other people and to fill up some empty time.

After an hour, Membrane excused himself and said goodnight before heading out of the bar. The others called out their goodbyes, and he started to feel a little better.

Till he walked by the posterboard again and noticed that they had spelled his name wrong.


	2. Lost in Translation

That night, Membrane didn’t sleep. That was far from out of the ordinary as he often had multiple concurrent projects. The oddity came with the multiple alarms he had set.

As the pulse started to build in his inner ear, Membrane shut off his blowtorch and pulled up his broadcast screen. While he readjusted his lab coat, he opened the connection to the screen at home.

Six seconds and the screen illuminated. Gaz knew the routine.

“Hi Dad.” Gaz said, though she wasn’t even facing the screen.

“Good morning Gazlene. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Yeah.”

“And your brother?”

“He gets on the bus now remember?” Gaz asked and glanced at the screen for the briefest of seconds. “Middle school starts earlier.”

“Right.” Membrane trailed and couldn’t think of anything to say.

Gaz, sighing, turned now to actually look at him.

“We’re fine, Dad. We’re used to this.” She said. Before, Membrane used to take this as assurance. His children were capable and he had even felt proud of their self-sufficiency. They were independent and motivated, unlike many of the children he knew through his colleagues’ discussions.

Except that after last year, after seeing that thing try to bond with his children, Membrane realized there was more to parenting than basic subliminal programming and proper nutrition dispersal.

“I’ll be back Sunday night,” Membrane said. “But I’ll call again after school.”

“Okay Dad.” Gaz said.

“Have a good day at school, honey.”

“Yeah Dad.” Gaz said impatiently. “Bye.”

“Goodbye.” Membrane said as Gaz cut off the connection. He stared at the black screen while the rest of his words stayed half formed in his throat.

  
By the time the next alarm went off, Membrane had packed up his lab and showered. The conference was hosting a reception breakfast and he was meant to be there. Pressing at his ear, the alarm silenced and Membrane stood in front of the door to his room.

He didn’t like not knowing what to do. Even when he was faced with some profound scientific problem, he at least understood what tools he needed to start working on it. Dibert and Gazlene were distant now, and having a hard time relating to their peers. There wasn’t a scientific theory or research method in the world to tell him what to do about that.

So he opened the door and went down to breakfast.

The hotel hosting the conference was large and luxuriously appointed. It was also very empty.

Save for the trip to the bar last night, Membrane had yet to even hear someone out in the hall, let alone see another person.

It surprised him, then, when the elevator paused to let someone else in.

“Doctor.” Membrane said.

“Professor.” Flug replied as he stepped into the elevator. “Heading down to the breakfast?”

“I am. Though I know it’s a bit early.” Membrane admitted. The elevator doors shut and they descended in silence for a moment.

“It’s not table service here, so it’s best to get to it early if you want decent pancakes.” Flug said and Membrane smiled behind the tall collar of his coat.

“I’m not really used to eating, breakfast.” Membrane added hastily. “I’m used to just surviving on-”

“-synthetics and coffee.” They both said at the same time. Flug laughed and put a hand to the back of his head. Membrane heard the bag crinkle, but wasn’t completely certain that it was made out of paper.

“Luckily I have someone to make sure I eat.” Flug continued and Membrane made a noise of agreement.

“Married?”

“¡Ni de coña!” Flug blurted. The two looked at each other and started to laugh.

A lot of people spoke Spanish here, though they didn’t seem to know what Spain was. Membrane’s family was from Mexico, but he wasn’t encouraged to speak Spanish after he started school. For how quickly he advanced, it just made it easier for him to converse with people in English.

But hearing how quickly the words flowed here, and how warm everything sounded, Membrane wondered if he should start.

He had no idea how much Spanish either Dib or Gaz knew either.

“I have a bear that has the intelligence and comprehension of a fourth grade child.” Flug clarified. “He worries.”

“That’s amazing. Genetic modification or external applications?”

“Genetic modification with multiple occurrences of hybridization for trait selection.”

“What did you use for host fluid?”

Before Flug could answer, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Cooler air was being piped into the lower level as the conference attendees arrived, and wisps of it curled around Membrane’s face. They were chains, attaching him to the chaotic noise in the lobby.

The two men walked out toward the noise, with Membrane glaring at the poster that constantly mocked him with it’s offensive errors.

“I’ll be talking about it today actually. I’m giving a presentation on GMOs versus controlled mutations.” Flug said. Membrane hesitated, and Flug took a few steps before pausing to look back at him.

“I thought that was about farming.” Membrane whispered, narrowing his eyes behind his goggles.

“Do you not know where you are?” Flug asked, stunned.

“I am almost certain of what planet I’m on.” Membrane joked, but felt a twinge as he remembered Dib’s exhaustive ranting for the past year.

“You’re at a Mad Scientist convention.” Flug stated.

“So, science cosplay?” Membrane asked. Flug’s expression - even through the bag - made him think he had gotten it wrong. At least he was trying to understand his children’s hobbies, even if he hadn’t yet grasped the terminology.

“How did you even get invited to speak here?” Flug questioned.

“I.” Membrane stopped and unfocused his eyes as he thought. “I don’t know.”

“Buenos días Flug.” The woman from last night, Penumbra, diverted from the main hallway and walked toward the elevator. She hugged Flug briefly - the scientist didn’t seem overly fond of physical contact - and then turned a bright, smiling face to Membrane.

“Good morning Professor.” She greeted.

“Good morning,” Membrane said awkwardly and breathed a note of hesitation. Both Penumbra and Flug waited, watching to see if he would continue.

“Please,” Membrane floundered through his mental records of social interactions as he spoke. “Call me Membrane.”

“Ah,” Penumbra brightened more and clasped her hands together. “Of course, we are friends now! You must call me Penumbra.”

“He doesn’t know what kind of convention this is.” Flug interjected. Penumbra looked shocked and Membrane retreated a bit into his high collar.

“Pobrecito, you must feel very out of place.” Penumbra came around and patted Membrane’s shoulder sympathetically. She then stopped and leaned in, obviously conspiratorial. “Are you a hero, truly? You can tell me, I am not as suspicious as the others.”

“I’m a scientist.” Membrane said weakly, wilting more into his lab coat. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“They don’t have heroes where he’s from.” Flug answered for him. “And he doesn’t know about the BHO there.”

That, whatever that was, shocked Penumbra more. She recovered quickly and, before Membrane could ask, linked her arm through his, twirled her black parasol in her other hand, set the tip sharply down on the carpet, and turned forward.

“Scientists, let’s go have breakfast.” She announced and started walking, gently dragging Membrane along like a scared dog.

Flug walked next to him, his yellow gloved hands held lightly behind his back.

The breakfast was a buffet and was surprisingly large. Gleaming chrome chafers held the usual fare - breakfast meats, eggs, tiny quiches, and pancakes - but also a few that were unfamiliar. The food heaped there glowed, or was gelatinous, or resembled some sort of sludge. Membrane assumed it was vegan or gluten-free.

Really, he thought to himself, if they’re doing to be so restrictive they should just go completely synthetic with their food.

Penumbra got them all into line and engaged them in small talk: the beautiful cloudy weather, the niceness of the table settings, and the best way to harness geothermal energy to power a completely self-sufficient lab without attracting unwanted attention.

Flug was more passive in the conversation, as he had been last night. Membrane was used to having people hang on his every word, or at least waiting for his next order, and wondered why the other man hadn’t wandered off. He seemed attentive, nodding and responding as Penumbra spoke.

“What do you do Penumbra?” Membrane asked suddenly as he scooped bright yellow scrambled eggs onto his plate.

“Oh, I was formally an environmental scientist. But now I’m working in radioactive gene therapy.” She answered as she skewered a pile of vegan sausage patties. “It hasn’t been a successful transition.”

Membrane blinked and then moved to the next chafer.

“But Flug has a much more interesting job.” Penumbra added and Membrane glanced behind him. Flug had one plate with a stack of pancakes.

“I work for a private business. I’m an engineer mostly but I’m also a chemist and an aviator.” He replied. Both he and Penumbra spoke in firm tones that did not suggest further questioning.

“What do you do Membrane?” Penumbra asked. The question was like breaking glass had been jammed between his vertebrae.

“I do everything.” He stated. Clearing his throat, Membrane went on. “I recently branched out into commercial manufacturing, and created a bracer that harnesses the energy of a person to create usable energy.”

“You turned people into _batteries_?” Penumbra asked, half laughing.

“Well, yes.” Membrane said. “An individual would be able to power their own bracer. It runs apps.”

Penumbra gave a short burst of laughter before covering her mouth with a hand. The handle of her parasol slid down into her elbow and she had to maneuver to keep if from falling. Membrane reached around and grabbed the parasol.

“Allow me.” He said and held onto it as Penumbra straightened.

“Thank you Professor.” She said. “It is so nice to be around polite people, isn’t it Flug?”

Flug only made a noise that Membrane assumed was of light annoyance. Penumbra seemed pleased with herself.

“Flug is a very different person when he’s not at work. I try to get him out more often, but his boss is very, demanding.” Penumbra said.

Flug said something in rapid Spanish that Membrane missed completely. Penumbra only shrugged and moved down the line.

“I’ve paid all my bills in full and on time, I have very little to worry about.” She stated.


	3. Haunted Hallways

The opening breakfast was, fine. Someone from the M. Shelley Science Foundation was introduced - a very tall fellow named Dr. Prometheus - and talked about the schedule of events. It seemed mundane and like every other conference Membrane had attended, yet the attendees made everything odd.

Penumbra pulled out a conference brochure and laid it out on the table. She and Flug spoke in Spanish while Membrane only listened. He had a translator in his aural implant, but wanted to hear his language naturally.

His parents had been wealthy and emigrated from Mexico when he was very young. North was progress, north was opportunity, and after the oil crisis, north was simply better.

Now, listening to Penumbra and Flug discuss timetables and conference halls, Membrane remembered listening to his parents talk about everything around him. And never to him.

Instructions were given in English. Reports were expected in English.

“Ah, I will be in my panel then.” Membrane interjected, both too abruptly and too loudly. He had recognized some of the words and answered a question a few seconds too late.

Both Flug and Penumbra turned to him and Membrane cleared his throat.

“You were talking about lunch?” He proffered. “¿Almuerzo?”

Penumbra laughed and then patted his hand.

“I apologize Professor. I haven’t spoken English for so long since my thesis defense years ago.” She replied.

“The conference seems to be completely in English.” Membrane replied, clearly confused.

“You know how in Spanish, nouns are gendered? And if there’s even one guy in a group of ladies, the group is masculine?” Flug asked.

“Yes.” Membrane answered.

“That’s what happens if there’s a single English speaker in the room.” Flug stated. Penumbra laughed again and Membrane chuckled in spite of himself.

“We will meet for lunch.” Penumbra said. “And find a place with a Spanish menu so El Profesor can suffer like we do.”

After the breakfast, the three went their separate ways. Penumbra was an actual attendant and had a plan for each day of the exhibits, panels, and speakers she wanted to see. She apologized, politely but with no real sentiment, that she wouldn’t be able to attend Membrane’s panel. Then she kissed his cheeks in farewell, tossing out a bright “Ciao!” as she moved down the hall.

Flug was evasive about his itinerary, only saying that he had to be part of an exhibition about lab safety.

Membrane, alone again, felt as if he were bobbing in open waters.

His panel, a conversation with three others about theories in cosmic energy, wasn’t until the early afternoon. There was always the choice of going back to his room, as there was still plenty of work to be done, but Membrane found himself starting to walk down to the conference rooms.

The first sign that he had made a mistake was seeing all of the people in costumes. And it wasn’t even the ones who had decided on weird spandex and capes. People in monstrous, albeit masterfully crafted, suits blundered down the hall. Some even left a trail of ooze or smoke in their wake.

Scientific conferences were falling out of vogue; well, other people’s conferences. He certainly never had a problem filling a stadium. But alas, if his own children weren’t enough of an indicator, this level of pandering certainly confirmed that today’s youth didn’t take science seriously.

Membrane just didn’t think it was worth it to blend serious science with cartoon cosplay.

Looking down at the conference brochure, he knew that was exactly what had happened. Panels like “How to Deal with Your Archnemesis’s Child Invulnerability and Get Rid of Them for Good” and “Green Morality: How to be Sustainable in Your Villainy” were obviously some sort of popular culture references.

He wondered briefly if he should try to find some merchandise for Dib.

Other programs looked promising. There was a speaker in one of the smaller rooms giving a talk about project management and how to make sure sensitive information couldn’t be downloaded onto a simple flash drive. Then something else caught his eye.

Or really, a keyword was tagged by his goggles.

_Soft Science: How Talking can be your Biggest Asset._

Membrane followed the odd map down the sloping hallway toward the lower level of the hotel. Large rooms that have held quinceañeras, job fairs, and banquets now hosted serpentine rows of tables. As he walked by, Membrane was able to see items laid out like science fair experiments on some of them, people clustering around them to stare.

The hall went lower to a subterranean floor. Here were the conference rooms. Membrane walked on and on, passing open doors and catching pieces of talks.

“Now I know many of us wouldn’t even be wondering about this if it wasn’t for the Black Hat Org…” A woman’s voice was smothered by both laughter and Membrane’s continued path deeper into the hotel.

The room he was looking for seemed to be the furthest away from the entrance. And even though the lighting hadn’t changed, a certain darkness tinged the halls and made the space around him quieter. His aural implant nullified the ambient noise of his own blood; useful when working in his lab, but more unnerving here.

The door for the talk was closed, and Membrane was hesitant to touch the handle.

“Thank you all for joining me today. My name is Jamirex and I am a doctoral student studying clinical psychology.” A voice from the other side of the door started speaking and Membrane stepped back. He instead moved to the side, leaning against the wall, and changed the input style for his aural implant.

“What I am presenting today is something that I think is so important yet so under utilized in the nature of our work; the concept of turning someone’s mind into something more helpful.” Jamirex, sounding so young and promising, paused. “For us, I mean.”

The laughter inside was real and Membrane started to get anxious.

“As you will see, a lot of my initial research is based on the foundation set by Dr. Amane Osmosis who-”

Membrane’s aural implant went deaf just as every muscle in his body seized. With every implant and every update, Membrane had to keep the kill switch. This pain was weakness and he would not allow it to exist inside of him for any longer.

Amane was gone. Talking about her wouldn’t help anyone; not these academics, not him, and certainly not his children.

It was a failed experiment. It had been archived and dismissed. There was no need to review it. There was no need to cite it in anything else.

Walking away from the room, Membrane fought down the rising frustration.

“How is it that someone knows her name but not mine?” He muttered to himself. He felt bile rise in his throat and had to pause to swallow it back. Of course that wasn’t the issue.

The better question was, how could someone else say her name so easily when he could not?

Moving on, but unaware of where he was walking, Membrane had to stop short when his goggles gave a proximity alert. He looked up just as Flug rounded the corner sharply.

“El Profesor.” Flug stated in surprise.

“Please no.” Membrane replied.

“Nicknames are kind of the thing around here if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I had actually. So what’s yours?”

Flug made a noise of indecision and all at once Membrane wondered how old the other man was. Membrane was taller, and just bigger, yet how others had moved around Flug made him seem different.

“Flug is actually the nickname. My surname is Flugslys.”

“And you fly?”

“Airplanes, yes. I enjoy it immensely.”

“Interesting.”

“Isn’t it?”

Membrane paused as a small group of people walked by. They were all wearing costumes, and one of them seemed to be dripping oily bits of magma. The burgundy carpet sizzled slightly with each drop, and Membrane wondered what was protecting the wearer’s skin from the corrosive materials of their costume.

“This is really all completely foreign to you?” Flug asked.

Membrane turned back and nodded. “I hope you don’t mistake my impatience for intolerance. Molecularly speaking, there’s nothing noteworthy that separates us from a rubber duck, but I wish people took science more seriously.”

“How do you mean?” Flug asked.

“Clearly with all of the work that went into these costumes, most of these people are exceptional textile engineers. It’s just unnecessary to be wearing them constantly.” Membrane answered.

For a moment, Flug only looked back at him.

“How have you survived this long?” Flug whispered as the light of his goggles narrowed.

“My son would love this though.” Membrane continued.

“So you’re a father too?”

“I have two kids, the jury’s still out on whether I’m a father though.” Membrane shocked himself by his own honesty and felt more words come up in a rush. “I’m on the road a lot.”

“I haven’t gone to a conference in forever, but as soon as I left, I wanted to go back.” Flug admitted.

“Right, your bear!”

Flug laughed and Membrane felt himself finally relax.

“I really do want to hear more about him. You are truly amazing to have accomplished that.” Membrane said. Flug's laughter stopped and Membrane froze.

Flustered, Membrane rubbed the back of his head. “Is this the part where you admit you stole someone else’s work?”

Flug’s head shook quickly, and he relaxed his shoulders.

“No, I’m just not used to people complimenting my work.” He replied.

“You and I come from two very different worlds Doctor.” Membrane said. “You said you worked in production?”

“For the largest supplier of technology and service in the area.”

“How many people do you have on your team?”

Flug paused again and then started to laugh.

“You’re too funny. Look, I have to go, but I’ll swing by your panel before lunch okay?” He said and clapped Membrane’s arm as he walked past. Membrane watched him go, listening as the doctor’s laughter faded away.

Everyone in this place was so goddamn weird.


	4. Out of Place

Membrane had never been to a fandom convention before. Dib talked about one in particular called “Comic Con,” but nothing here seemed to resemble that. Membrane had gone in search of a vendor hall, to pick up some sort of souvenir for the children, but wasn’t able to find anything. Instead, there was a prolific number of sample catalogs for a company called Black Hat Organization. 

Penumbra had talked about a black hat and Membrane had certainly noted it, being the only English phrase she occasionally rattled off when speaking to Flug in Spanish. 

Flipping through the catalog, it looked like the company specialized in science fiction collectibles. The prices were absolutely outrageous, but Gaz had recently shown him a company that made hyper-realistic models of characters from various media. Perhaps there were people out there who decided it was worth it to spend so much money on such worthless memorabilia. 

Membrane slipped the catalog in his pocket and continued to move through the exhibit hall.

After the events of last year, he had decided that he had to make an effort with his children. Gaz was easy, but Dib was confusing and irrational. Here, among strangers, Membrane could practice.

He went to various exhibits, asking questions and listening while containing his judgement. Every single one of them had a detailed backstory, but very few of them seemed to be from the same media. Save for, of course, the fact that a majority of them were members of the Black Hat Organization. 

Then, the strangest part of it all, was finding out that Dr. Flugslys was the head of the R&D department.

Flug saying that he was part of the largest supplier of tech in the area was the same as someone at Playskool claiming to be the largest supplier of trucks. Then again, Membrane would also be embarrassed if he had been reduced to making toys in order to fund his scientific research. 

After seeing how defensive Flug had gotten when Penumbra had said something about his employer, Membrane figured it would be best not to ask him about it.

There was only so much time Membrane could spend with these people and so found himself with a little bit of extra time on his hands. Checking the schedule, he saw that Flug’s presentation on GMOs was being held near to where Membrane’s panel was going to take place. 

Normally, it would be incredibly rude to show up late to someone’s, well his, talk. But as Membrane walked toward the room, he saw people dipping in and out of rooms. Again he could hear snippets of talks or idle conversation, but that one name did not pop up. 

The door to Flug’s talk was open, and there were people standing just inside the doorway. As Membrane entered, he saw some empty seats among the audience here and there, meaning these people were probably late instead of standing out of need. Still, it was an impressive audience, and Membrane stood quietly at the back of the room. 

It became very clear that Flug was a young man. He spoke confidently but with a brusque bravado that Membrane had seen with scientists in their first job. 

“Now we can compare the expressed effect of invulnerability versus improved constitution and rapid healing.” Flug said and gestured at the screen behind him. A clip started to play and Membrane adjusted his goggles to see better.

A woman with bright green and pink hair leapt upon a group of soldiers. The fight was fairly graphic and the woman brutalized the small group while being shot at. Unsure of what he was supposed to be watching for, Membrane scanned the audio of the crowd and heard brief chuckling.

“I’m sure most of you are familiar with Demencia’s style of combat.” Flug said dryly. The clip ended and was replaced by a collage of photos. The same woman was in a straight-jacket and posed in various angles showing the damage done to her face. 

“These were taken prior to Demencia’s ‘tuck in’ protocol. And these,” Flug paused and the pictures were replaced by very similar ones, save that the woman’s face was free of any wounds or scarring. “Were taken the next day.”

“5.0.5 on the other hand has complete invulnerability.” Flug paused to allow another clip to play.

A large blue bear wearing a flower headband stood in the center of an empty room. The creature looked nervous but stood obediently still. From off screen, a small robot wearing a bowler hat rolled in, holding a large red box. The bear took the box and seemed to be looking past the camera at something. The robot rolled away and the bear nodded. The bear squeezed the box and it exploded with mute fury. 

When the smoke cleared, the bear stood looking startled. The only visible damage was some slight singing to the fur and a blasting of explosive powder. 

“The difference comes from the modification of hybrid genes and the tailoring of multiple hybrid sequences onto each other. Mutations can only change genetic coding during mitosis or through the introduction of a mutated trigger to change gene expression. Genetic modification takes longer but ultimately results in more stable, more reliable expression of desired traits.” Flug continued. 

Membrane listened for a little longer. The concept actually made a lot of sense, and had the edge of mad science to it. In grad school, he had been labelled as a mad scientist and ultimately proved all of his lab mates wrong. As Flug pulled up tables of data, Membrane actually felt his pulse increase. His first urge was to head back to his room and start a project. But as Membrane checked the time on his HUD, he found an email from Dib’s school.

Moving back out into the hallway, the artificial assistant read the email to him. Dib and the exchange student - Zim, Membrane corrected himself - had gotten into some sort of mecha suit assisted fight at school that resulted in massive structural damage. Membrane sighed in utter disappointment.

Dib probably hadn’t even built the mecha suit himself. 

The assistant wired the appropriate funds to the school district, contacted the construction subsidiary Membrane Labs owned, and began the Grounding Protocol at the house. 

Membrane walked to his panel.

“Cosmic Energy” was a soft topic. There was only so much he could say about radiation and reducing energy lost in heat. But when he saw the other panelists, Membrane decided his best course would be to talk about the dream he had with Mini-Moose.

His seat was at the center, which was irritating, and there was already someone at the panel chatting with a few people. Membrane nodded to the man as he passed and eyed the name plate: Van Kleiss. The name didn’t ring a bell and Membrane assumed he wouldn’t forget a man with a large, golden arm. Next was an empty chair and a nameplate reserving it for “Queen Beryl.” Barely containing a grunt of disapproval, Membrane headed to the other end of the table to move behind it.   
Just as he did, a tall woman with glowing lavender eyes stepped in his way. They regarded each other for a moment before the woman relaxed and gestured for him to proceed. Moving behind the table, Membrane glanced over as the woman sat next to him. Her name plate simply said “Blackfire.”

“Are you a scientist?” Membrane asked, curious about her appearance. He had expected her to sit behind the royal character name for all her bearing and intensity. But with that stage name, he assumed she was a wrestler or something similar. 

Blackfire smirked as she looked at him.

“No.” She replied, and sounded amused in the condescending way adults patronized children. 

He didn’t attempt to speak to her again.

Queen Beryl never did show up, and Membrane grew frustrated by the lack of academic integrity. Both Blackfire and Van Kleiss sounded like actual scientists when talking about their subject matter, which frustrated him even more. He spoke bitterly about Mini-Moose, trying to have someone call him out on the absurdity, but it turned out to be the only thing the audience was interested in hearing from him. When the panel opened for questions, he gave up.

Membrane tried to stay alert, but the questions were so sophomoric and he had never shared any sort of stage before, that he ultimately zoned out. His artificial assistant read through lab reports and experiment statuses, their neutral voice vibrating in Membrane’s aural implant. Under the guise of a medical treatment, one of his labs was working on perfluorocarbon and a total ventilator; sure it would help save millions of lives, but it would also allow him to breathe underwater.

Then he could exact his revenge.

His robotic hands flexed briefly and he paused the transcripts to look around. The line for the microphone was fairly long, and there was still fifteen minutes left in the panel. None of the questions had been for him, and he had stopped adding on after the first dozen or so. 

“This question is for Professor Membrane.” 

Membrane looked up but the spotlight had moved and the questioner was erased by light. It dazed him, as did the sudden lurched he did out of his own thoughts.

“Yes?” He sputtered.

“Why did you murder Amane Osmosis?” The questioner asked.

His heart in his throat, Membrane tried to swallow but the flesh had simultaneously dried. 

“Excu-” He tried but was interrupted.

“Why did you kill your wife?”

“Now wait a moment.” Membrane stood and swore. The light was blinding. In a flash, the light exploded and Membrane started breathing heavily as his arm retracted back into shape.

The audience under the spotlight had scattered and Membrane used his goggles to scan the crowd. With only a voice, the accuser was either staying quiet or long gone as the clamor rippled backward. 

“Now that’s a backstory.” Blackfire remarked and leaned back in her seat. “I killed my parents but they were the worst. A wife though, that’s tough.” 

“Shut up.” Membrane growled and stepped onto the table. Dusting off his lab coat, he once again surveyed the area before jumping down and walking out of the hall.

“I guess he isn’t a hero.” Someone whispered as he walked by.

Perhaps it was time to take a break from conventions.

Walking out into the corridor, the lights flickered before dimming. He had clearly caused some structural damage to the electric network. Guilt flickered and dimmed much like the lights and Membrane moved on. Out in the main reception area, the lights blazed and Membrane watched his shadow split before losing the twisted twin. He could focus on light, energy, radiation that illuminated the world in a meaningless array.

“Oh, El Profesor! Is your panel finished already?” 

Membrane shook himself and readjusted his senses as Penumbra approached.

“There was a problem with the lights.” He replied.

“Well, would you like to go to lunch? I think we can find Flug in the vendor area.” She said and then tilted her head.

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.”

Penumbra smiled gently at him and then turned, letting him follow behind her instead of engaging her at her side. It gave him time to push back the screaming klaxons of his various protocols conflicting with each other. So instead, he watched the convention pass by him. The carpet was plush underfoot, but felt like a solid mass instead of anything woven. As if a roll of material had been laid out and stamped with a pseudo ikat design. The background was a sort of squashed tomato red that felt thin and clashed with the thickly clustered fibers. 

He had gone too tactile in his attempt to leave his mind. It wouldn’t do to feel colors. Yet it niggled at the back of his head and Membrane started to fidget. He took a long stride and walked next to Penumbra, not looking at her right away.

“May I ask you something?” He began.

“May I not answer?” Her reply threw him and Membrane tripped midstep. Penumbra gave a short, soft laugh and shrugged. “I want to know the question but I’ve learned to be careful with my answers.”

“A wise scientist learns this often too late.” Membrane said. A flicker of remorse went across Penumbra’s face but she didn’t linger in it, so he didn’t ask.

“Would you mind telling me about this Black Hat Organization I keep hearing about?” He questioned.

For all of her ease and the general chatter around him, Penumbra suddenly looked stunned and went quiet. 

“I think perhaps my dear friend Flug is the one to ask about this.” She said and twisted her head from side to side. She paused with a smile and tugged on Membrane’s sleeve.

“There he is.” 

Flug stood off to the side, seemingly arguing with a large robot. Moving around, Membrane noted that the center of the robot was a screen, with another robot illuminated in a grainy glow. So he was arguing with a robot, just not this robot.

“I don’t care what she has in her mouth, just get her out of the decontamination unit!” Flug snapped. With an angry jab, Flug pressed a button at the side of the screen and then gave a flurry of instructions to this robot in Spanish. Membrane didn’t even have time to run the translator before the robot rolled away. It was delicately perched for being such a rotund robot on such a small, singular wheel. The top hat was a nice touch as well, giving it more of a mob goon feel. 

“Do you like mob movies?” Membrane asked suddenly when they approached. Both Penumbra and Flug reacted, turning to stare at him.

“The robot looks a bit like…” Membrane circled a hand in the air but no further explanation came. He let his hand drop. 

“Yes?” Flug replied.

“I like spaghetti westerns!” Penumbra interjected. “Aldo Sambrell is my favorite.”

Now Membrane looked confused, wondering how much of their metaphorically parallel world actually existed in tandem. When he had been in Night Vale, he had vowed to get to the bottom of the reality distortion, but promptly forgot all about it when he left the city limits. The same thing was probably going to happen after this convention.

“So,” Flug said awkwardly. “I guess it’s lunch time?”


End file.
